Will I win this?
by thatdragonchic
Summary: Years after splitting up, the pack finds themselves coming together in the ruins of a second world war. Stiles and Peter find themselves thrown into leading it and the supernatural doesn't compare to the horrors of human destruction
1. Chapter 1

_-May 19th, 1939:: Yorkshire, England-_

Werewolves, Coyotes and Banshee's didn't scare him. The supernatural was a means of unnatural and defeatable. The supernatural you could defeat, the supernatural wasn't supposed to be real and it wasn't scary, they all had weaknesses and Stiles found that as he and Lydia defeated them, he was no longer afraid of them. And so at 17, they left America for England and settled in a nice house in Yorkshire, England. The very house he was standing in at the moment, against the kitchen door, the light filtering the room a dull white. It hit his wife perfectly, how she was half shadowed and half lit against the counter, licking the frosting from the cake she made off her finger with perfectly polished red nails.

"Should I question why you're so late? No I'm sorry… _Three hours_ late?" The strawberry blonde spoke up, looking up with a questioning look and her voice held a certain threat to it even if it was soft and kind seeming.

"Some inspectors came to the precinct and I wasn't allowed to leave or call you. I'm sure you understand," Stiles spoke up, still leaning against the frame of the kitchen entryway, watching her. How does he tell her? How do you deliver that kind of news?

"Inspectors?" She asked, befuddled. "For _what?_ "

"Like… doctors. Checking our health and our rankings in the set…" Stiles walked forward, standing in front of her on the other side of the island countertop. Her eyes were dead set on him, that glowing green was dulled over with such confusion and fear.

"Is that so?" She asked, swallowing a bit before pressing a tight smile. "Well I'm sure its nothing."

"No its not nothing," he whispered and she shook her head.

"Its nothing," she whispered back.

"Lydia… Lydia listen to me," he said, taking one of her hands in his, kissing the veins on her hands, then her knuckles, then her palm. "They're drafting me in as a grade four sargeant. I'll have a troop to be in charge of, people to lead… more pay than a soldier would have but certainly less time off."

"What about Delphine? She's only five years old, what are we supposed to tell her?" Lydia asked, refusing to look at him because she'd cry. "What about you? What if-"

"I'm going to be okay, Lydia. And Delphine is going to be okay, I'll talk to her. We'll be alright. Everything will even out in the end."

"How can you be so sure? Didn't you see the outcome of the great war and what difference will it be now with only more advanced technology that they can lodge against you?" Lydia argued. He can't go, he shouldn't go, he wasn't going to- she wouldn't let him.

"We've defeated psychotic Alpha Werewolves, what difference is fighting on a battlefield?" There was a difference and he knew it. This, he had no say in getting out of. This was no easy resolution, not a quick and simple battle. Not: go home and take a rest after you've fought, maybe come back tomorrow to make sure you've really won. "Just don't think of it, don't let it get to you."

"You're not going," Lydia whispered, looking up at him. "You're not."

"I am. I have to, Lydia."

"No you don't," she insisted.

"They'll shoot me for cowardice if I don't go. And wouldn't you rather I have some chance at survival than none at all?" Stiles insisted but he was almost sure his wife wasn't listening and if she was, the information wasn't going through her, wasn't processing. To her he was being sentenced to death, not fighting a 'heroic' war. He wasn't going off to be a hero. He was going off to get shot. But he didn't think it was that simple, go and get shot. Even if he did, bullets could be removed, the body would heal. So he would keep going and he would push through, even if he was bleeding and even if he was wounded, men keep shoving forward because they have no choice. "Besides, you can get work as a nurse. There's talk they're going to let the woman join the naval forces and other segments. Wouldn't you want to do your part? We'd practically be fighting together."

"Yes but being in the navy is a lot safer than being out there," Lydia muttered, wrapping her arms around his torso, leaning into him, inhaling the warm scent of cigarettes and his cologne. Though, what normally comforted her, made her nauseous.

"I have a week until I leave," he whispered. "Training to be a military officer of sorts and then training me to fight. Because I'm the head of my precinct but even then, I have police grade training, not military. So I'm due sooner than others."

"Fair enough. I'm going to go put you dinner." She pulled away and went to pull his plate from the oven, setting it down on the table and grabbing utensils. "I'll go wake Delphine, just as she asked."

"No need," Stiles assured. "Let her sleep, she can see me in the morning, I've been given the week off to prepare. If anything, tomorrow I'll just take a half day, make sure my men are in place and then come back home." Lydia nodded, watching him. He met her eyes and she softened, trying to smile for him but being unable to. "I'll be okay, I promise."

"Are you okay now?"

"I'm not sure but that doesn't mean I won't be later. As long as I come out alive, there's hope isn't there?"

Lydia nodded, sitting beside him and quickly changing the topic, her daily dose of gossip never failing to amuse him. The meal was taken down rather slowly and afterwards, he insisted on going to bed. It was late after all, almost past the midnight hour. Though, through the night, it seemed like Stiles slept peacefully and she couldn't sleep at all. He was right there beside her, but soon enough he wouldn't be. And for a long time he won't be. She would have to be stronger than she was and push forward knowing he'd win the war for her and their daughter. He was strong, he would win, she had _faith._


	2. Chapter 2

_-May 19th :: Paris, France-_

Her careful, shaking hands zipped the bag halfway before her eyes lit up as she remembered something. It was the most important thing, and how could she have forgotten to pack it? She turned and sprinted out of her father's room and into her own, standing at her dresser, glancing up at herself in the mirror before heaving a breath and giving herself a tired smile. She took the picture to her left, a small one of her on the day she graduated university and ran back to her father's room just as he stepped out of the bathroom.

"Malia what on earth are you doing running around the apartment?" Peter asked, looking at her with slight concern. She grinned and tucked the picture in its frame between the clothes in his bag.

"Putting the most important item that you need to take with you in your bag," she replied, her grin still beaming. And how he'd miss that smiling face, his darling daughter, whom he'd grown so close to since they were reunited. How would Peter ever face not being able to come back to their small apartment in Paris to her cooking dinner or him coming home before her and watching her return from work- giddy as the school girls she teaches.

"What may that be?" He questioned, trying to peek in but she stopped him and tapped his nose playfully. Malia zipped the duffle shut and watched him with a straight face.

"A picture of me of course. That really nice one you like so much? With the flowers in my bun and I'm smiling?"

"Of course, how could I have forgotten about it? Maybe I just didn't want to steal it from your room… but I guess I didn't have to, now did I?"

"Not at all. Come on, Dinner's almost ready and won't you set the table?"

Peter nodded, following his daughter out of the room. Her beautiful eyes, her hair just like her mothers (to bad that woman was a witch;) who could ask for a better daughter? So he went to the kitchen and grabbed two fine plates and set them on the table a few inches away, removing the fruit basket to the counter. He helped her put the chicken and biscuits down. A fresh basin of iced tea, even. Some butter on a platter to match the biscuits, a bowl of fine rice to go on the side. A salad too.

"You've done yourself out," Peter complimented and she shrugged, smiling sadly.

"The last hot meal you'll have in a long while. I figured you'd deserve it. You're going to war, not me. Considering… that must be so scary, don't you think? You must be afraid, but then again, we've dealt with worse. haven't we?"

"You'd be surprised. Werewolves aren't so tough when it comes to wars. War is always terrifying, especially when you have new machinery flowing out of the factories quicker than mother nature can spin out the seasons." This made his daughter give a small laugh, though he knew she was afraid. He knew she was worried. It wasn't just him, her old friends would end up in the middle of this too and she was aware of it. "You can do your part. Be a nurse, be in the navy… At least, if they let you. Enlist, you can do something. I don't have to fight this alone."

"Perhaps the best I can do is just keep teaching my school children. They need hope and they need _me._ I can't leave them." Malia served her father, putting a chicken leg and thigh in his plate, scooping up some rice, salad and two biscuits. "Now stop your chattering and eat up. I want this table near about gone before you leave this table."

"I didn't realize you were the parent in this relationship."

()()()

Stiles held the small body close to him, balanced on his hip as he walked her to the swing he made her. She was so small, so innocent, so fragile. She wouldn't understand. She was only so much as almost three years old. She was so happy, so excited. There were swings and fireflies that glew yellow. Under the willow tree that her mother loved so much. And what was she to know that he was going to deliver bad news? To her this was just a good time with her father.

"Daddy! Look!" Delphine exclaimed as she caught one of the fireflies on her finger. "It glows!"

Stiles laughed, nodding and kissing her soft, pink colored cheeks. "Yeah it does. Those are fireflies, they're suppose to glow. That's how they talk."

"Talk? No no no, _this_ is talking!" She corrected, trying to catch the bug when it flew away, almost falling out of her daddy's arms.

"Yes it is but they can't do that. So they glow. He was saying hi to you, and then he had to leave," stiles explained and Delphine nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder, her little fingers playing with hair on the back of his neck.

They got to the willow tree, the swing residing to the left, swaying slightly with the wind. Delphine immediately hopped from her fathers arms, tumbling a little bit. "Ow!" She cried, pouting momentarily before getting up and looking at her father to brush her off. He kneeled beside her, moving what minimal dirt had reached her dress away and smiled.

"A little too eager are we? We have two hours until bed time, you know. There's no need to rush," Stiles assured, looking at her with soft eyes and a small smile. She nodded and pulled him by his forefinger to the swing. He put her on made sure she was securely holding on before giving a gentle push. She giggled as she felt herself lift into the air, the wind pushing back her strawberry blonde locks. He gave another gentle push and she squealed, oh so excited. Delphine claimed that being on a swing was like flying, it was like being a bird. And her parents took the answer, remembering that perhaps she dreamt of flying and that's why she loved the swing so much.

"Daddy look! I can swing myself!" She said, pumping her legs, up then down, just as you would if you were swinging alone. Stiles smiled, nodding his head excitedly as he watched her. She looked back him, exclaiming for him to look.

"Yes I'm watching darling! I can see you," he assured. And after awhile, they sat down and he opened her a bottle of cotton candy soda _("a treat, but don't tell your mother," he whispered to her.)_ Using the bottle opener to snap the top off then hand it to her and doing the same for his. They were sat beneath the tree, against the roots, little Delphine in his lap.

"Daddy, why are we sitting here?" she questioned, looking up at him as her small hands clutched the bottle.

"Because, why not? I wanted to spend time with you."

"Is this because mummy yelled at you last night? Is it your job?" she asked, rather fluent for a three year old girl and very smart.

"Something like that… remember when i told you that sometimes there are bad people in the world and we can't always fear them?"

"yes, daddy, I remember," she huffed. Was he going to give her that speech again? She was no longer afraid of that grumpy old man across the street anyways.

"Well… sometimes bad people get their way and it's up to the good people on earth to stop them. And some very _bad people_ have done some very bad things. So I'm going to help stop them because that's my job, remember?"

"Yes it is. You're like a superhero, always figuring things out." She nodded and looked up at him. "What did these bad people do?"

"They hurt some very good people who did nothing wrong. But to stop them, I'm going to have to be gone for a very long time. And you must understand that I'm going to be away. Do you understand?"

"I understand," she said, thinking. It seemed simple to her, that he'd be going away. But merely a month seemed like a long time for her and he'd be gone for months at a time, not just one. "Will you come back?"

"Of course I will. I'll come visit you and mama before going back to my job-"

"To help those good people, right?"

"Of course dear. To help those good people."

"Then as long as you visit, mama and I will be very happy."

"And that's all I could ever want, isn't it Delphine?" Stiles asked, pushing her hair out of her face as she took a sip from the bottle in her hands.

()()()

Lydia lay against the bed, back sinking into the pillows. Her arms hugged the sides of the shirt that was much too big for her (being Stiles' shirt) and she felt herself shaking so slightly. Was the air a little bitter and cold or was it just her? She turned her body onto her side and stared at the nightstand on Stiles' side of the bed. There were some medication pills to help him sleep, there were some books, his journal, and a picture of her on their wedding day perched beside his lamp.

A smile twitched at her lips and she leaned back to her original position, stretching herself along the duvet before wiggling underneath it. She hugged the covers and thought for awhile. What if Stiles didn't come out okay? She knew he was strong and she knew he was brave… but he had lost hope so quickly in their days in Beacon Hills, he had been so easily discouraged after battles, before battles. This was different though and maybe it wasn't so much the same. Maybe he was so much as changed beyond the point as letting things discourage him. The past three years of life on their own, from their marriage at 16 to now where they stood at 19, he had grown so much. He had become so different. Not in a way that he'd lost his sarcastic charm, his daringly good looks but that he'd become stronger- somehow more determined and somehow more willing.

Stiles would do anything to save somebody, to help, to prove himself. Yet at the same time he knew he was proven. Sometimes Lydia wondered if Stiles had felt so weak because he felt shadowed by Scott's heroism and felt that he himself couldn't be the hero that his best friend was. He himself couldn't bring himself to be that because Scott was already so perfect at it. And now? Lydia knew he'd be the hero whether he knew it or not. Fighting war is supposed to be heroic, isn't it? Its supposed to help people, isn't it? That's why he's going to fight, isn't he? To help these people Hitler is abusing and throwing in camps, to help this broken world that is falling to its ends meet- shattered to broken small pieces.

Lydia shut her eyes and pushed all the air in her lungs out her nose before taking another deep breath in. The air felt so tight, the air felt so minimal, as if it wasn't there. She just wanted to suck as much as she could into her lungs and then let the rushing feeling of relief wash over as it escaped from her body. It was all so much to take in, maybe breathing was all she needed to do.


End file.
